Page 10 of Maximus

He shook his head and took her elbow, turning her in the direction she’d been walking. “No, no, this is fine. Just a difference in lifestyles.”

“That is true. Here in Sochi, the pace is much slower than in London or Moscow.”

“You’ve lived in both places?” He held her elbow as she navigated some loose cobblestones.

“Thank you, and yes. My mom is British, and we have an apartment in London. I stayed there with her while I attended school after my parents divorced. My father works for the State museum, which is where I developed my love for art. He’s just an administrator with no knowledge of the pedigree of the exhibits, but he has an eye for beauty.”

“I thought State employees didn’t make a lot of money.”

“He doesn’t. Why?”

“How can he support your mother in another country?”

“Oh, he doesn’t. My mother’s family was very well off and left her a sizable inheritance that she’s kept in her name, so the State has no access to it. She isn’t a Russian citizen, so she travels here for short visits to see me during my slow times. As I said, my father and mother are no longer married, but they’re friendly and have always worked to raise me together. I was born in Russia and have dual British citizenship.” She looked at him and laughed. “And I just spilled my life’s story to you in one breath. I’m sure that bored you to tears.”

“Not at all.” He took her elbow again as they stepped off the curb to cross the street. “I’ll give you tit for tat. I was adopted and raised as the oldest of five. There’s an age gap between myself and my oldest brother. I was considered gifted and studied in numerous fields before landing in the art world. A friend suggested I work in this field, actually.”

“So, you didn’t grow up knowing what you wanted to study?” she asked as they stepped up onto the sidewalk.

“It’s my understanding my brain works differently from other people. When I was younger, some said I was developmentally challenged.”

She gasped. “No, they didn’t. How could they? Your knowledge of the field is impeccable. I’ve read articles where they mention your work and insight.”

Max smiled. “So, you’ve done your due diligence, Ms. Ivanova.”

“Please call me Elena. I have, and I would be remiss for not reminding you I sent the bona fides for my employer should your owners decide to move regarding that painting.” She stopped and sighed. “But that’s not why I agreed to dinner with you. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands what I say. Someone who knows the provenance of the masters and can talk to the state-of-the-art world today.”

“I’ll gladly take a look at those documents. As you know, I’m not the decision-maker in these instances, but I’ll forward them to those who are.”

Elena’s face glowed with happiness. A niggling of guilt tickled at his gut. He was using the woman to reach the devil, and unfortunately for her, she was his only way forward. She motioned toward the door. “This is us, and honestly, that’s all I could hope for. I haven’t mentioned the possibility to my employer. I must let him know if he’s found to be acceptable.”

“That’s entirely understandable,” Max said as they entered the restaurant.

The hostess led them to a table on the balcony, and even with the gentle breeze, the ambiance was one of candlelight warmth and seclusion. Max held her chair for her before he seated himself.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“I don’t drink.” She shrugged. “I’ve never acquired the taste.”

Max smiled. “Nor have I.” He placed the wine list to the side. “I’ve worked hard to keep in shape. Alcohol doesn’t match that goal.”

“Agreed. I exercise every day.” She blushed and looked down. “I’ll never be skinny; it isn’t who I am, but I keep healthy by walking and yoga every morning. Curves are not currently in the hierarchy of the beauty world.”

Max leaned over and whispered, “Then the world’s view of beauty is wrong.”

She glanced up at him and blushed beautifully in the candlelight. “You flatter me, and I thank you, but it isn’t necessary.”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the one truth in our business. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think you are exquisite, and no, I’m not using my position to wiggle into your bed. The fact is you’re beautiful to me.” He leaned back. “You don’t know your own value.”

She shook her head and took a sip of water before answering. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you.” She changed the topic to the recent attack on theMona Lisaat the Louvre. As they chatted about the audacity and entitlement of people today, he wondered who had hurt her. His research hadn’t uncovered any long relationships or close ties with people in the area. He’d dive into her childhood that night. There was some reason for her belief that she wasn’t beautiful.

They ordered, and she looked at him. “Where did you learn Russian?”

He made a face. “Why? Is it horrible?”

She laughed and shook her head. “No, very good, in fact.”

“I must admit, I’m self-taught.” Which was the truth. The best lies are those based on truth. Everything he’d told her about himself was a version of the truth. Keeping track of lies was a pain in the ass. Add to that the fact he found he didn’t want to mislead her anymore, and the truth seemed to be the best way to go up to a point: such an anomaly, this woman.

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